Heart of a Dragon

Chapter Forty-One

Martinez rang the buzzer and was admitted to Donovan's building the next morning around ten. Donovan had been cataloguing a small pile of new manuscripts, preparing them for storage. Amethyst had left about an hour earlier, after staying the night to recuperate. She had her own affairs to sort out, and the past several days had left her with a lot of catching up.

Donovan ushered the old man inside. Salvatore followed more slowly. The boy didn't drop his eyes, as he had during earlier encounters. He met Donovan's gaze levelly and gravely, and he took the offered handshake with a firm grip.

"Good morning, Sal," Donovan said. "You all right this morning?"

"Yes, Sir," he replied. "I am a little tired."

"That was a brave thing you did in the park yesterday," Donovan said. "Most men would have run, given the chance. I'm pretty sure you saved all our lives. I won't forget that."

"I only did what I thought was right. I have always tried to do that. Sometimes, it is hard."

Donovan chuckled.

"You couldn't be more right about that."

He offered the two a seat on the dark brown leather sofa. He brought Martinez strong black coffee, and a glass of sweet iced tea for Salvatore, who took it gratefully. The boy still looked pale, and Donovan saw that his hand shook when he took the drink.

"What happened after I left?" he asked, sitting across from them in a wing-back chair. "Did you paint?"

Salvatore nodded. It took him a moment to form the words in his mind, and he didn't speak in haste. Whatever he was about to say, or explain, it was very important to him.

"I painted the city of the dragons," he said finally. "It is another place — a place I have visited when I paint. It is where I found Senor Snake's dragon, and Jake's."

Donovan didn't reply, but his heart raced. He'd read similar stories in a few of the oldest of his books, but the information was spotty. He wanted to be certain he understood what Salvatore was telling him.

"You mean you had visions of another world?" he asked.

"No, Senor Donovan, I was there. When I painted Senor Snake's dragon, I stood on a beach. There is a city there with walls that stretch to the sky. There was no gate in the wall, at least not that I could find, and there were towers."

"My God," Donovan said.

"It happened more than once," Martinez cut in. "Last night, he spoke with…well, I'd better let Salvatore tell the story. He painted this."

Martinez pulled the rolled painting from his pocket and handed it to Donovan, who unrolled it carefully and flattened it out on his lap. He stared at the colored spheres and the perfectly symmetrical walls for a long time. The image gave him a strange sense of vertigo. Though it was easy to see what Salvatore had painted — the details were eerily clear — it was impossible to reconcile the scene to his understanding of the universe.

There would be no way to enter such towers except from the air. If there were streets, it was impossible to make them out in the deep shadows, and somehow Donovan knew they weren't there. They weren't necessary. What kind of creature didn't need the ground? What would it be like if your entire world existed in, and just beneath, the clouds and the storms?

He rolled the painting carefully and glanced over at Salvatore. The boy watched him carefully, and Donovan got the distinct impression he was being measured in some way. Once the painting was rolled, Donovan rose and carried it carefully to his desk. He grabbed a bit of ribbon, held it up, and breathed on it. He spoke a couple of words so softly they were barely perceptible. He wrapped the ribbon carefully around the painting and tied it in an intricate knot. When he was satisfied it would hold, he turned back to Martinez and Salvatore.

"This is very powerful," he said. "I suspect you know that. Do you know what it is, Sal?"

"The man — the dragon — told me it could be a portal," Salvatore said slowly. "I did not understand everything that he said, but he told me that it must be kept safe. He said that if we destroyed it — it was bound to his city. He did not know what might happen. He told me that I am bound to the painting, and to his world."

Salvatore fell silent for a moment. Donovan was about to break the silence, when the boy spoke again.

"He called me a Worldwalker."

Donovan grew very still. Martinez didn't react, but Donovan suspected that he'd already heard this story, and was better prepared.

" Worldwalker," Donovan said softly. "So it's true."

Salvatore looked confused. Donovan walked over and squatted, so that the two of them were eye to eye.

"I have documents here," he said, "that speak of Worldwalkers. The references are very rare, and the information that remains reads more like legend than fact. To my knowledge, there have been three Worldwalkers in the history of our world. You would be the fourth. It is an awesome responsibility…and an amazing gift. Do you understand that?"

Salvatore nodded. "The dragon, he told me there might be other worlds. That I might paint other portals."

"If you do," Donovan said, "you must promise me that you will not do so alone, and that you will prepare properly. There are ways to protect yourself, and those around you. There are ways to seal such a portal. Martinez can help you — and I will be honored to help, as well, if I am needed.

"I don't know if Martinez has explained what I do. I have been gathering books and manuscripts, documents and secrets — and archiving them. When I began, I had books and shelves and paper. Now I use computers, and technology, which are a kind of magic themselves. It is important to know as much as we can about things of power. Much has been learned, forgotten, and relearned over the years. I am trying to provide…stability."

"I told him you'd be the one to hold the painting," Martinez said. "If there is a place in this world where such a thing could be considered safe, it is in your hands."

Donovan stood up and nodded.

"I don't know if I deserve such confidence," he said, "but I will do my best to store this safely. I will hold it…for you, Salvatore. I can sense it's power, but I believe that it is your gift to make connections. You made the connections between Snake, and his dragon, and it allowed you to open a portal between worlds. Your art is an extension of your ability to take something from the world — or from your mind — and bind it to whatever surface you work on. It is a rare gift.

"Some famous artists have shared it in a weaker version. They could trap images and amaze the world, but it never went beyond that. A few went mad from the visions their work brought them."

At that moment, Cleo, tired of being ignored, scampered across the floor and hopped up onto Salvatore's lap. The cat rubbed its head against the boys chest. After the momentary shock of the animal's sudden appearance had passed, the boy reached down and scratched Cleo's ears.

Energy shifted in the air. Salvatore turned his gaze on Donovan, and it seemed as if he saw something far away — something beyond Donovan in the distance. Cleo let out a plaintive meow, arched her back, and head butted Salvatore gently, breaking the boy's concentration.

"You — and the cat — you are connected," Salvatore said. "I would not paint a dragon for you — it would be a cat. And…a crow?"

Donovan stared down at his familiar, and the young artist, and then glanced over at Martinez.

"No cats," he said. "Promise me he will paint no cats. And I don't even want to know about crows."

Martinez laughed then, and the sound broke the tension in the room.

"I think it will be a long time before I paint again," Salvatore said. "I will stick to drawing with charcoal and chalk. I slept well last night for the first time since the dragons invaded my dreams. I am very tired, and I have a lot to learn. Also, Senor Jake and his lady, Helen, want me to start in school."

The boy's smile was bright, and innocent, and Donovan reached out to ruffle his hair.

"I'm sure you'll do very well in school," he said. "Jake is a good man. You tell him Amethyst and I will stop by to visit soon."

Martinez rose, and Salvatore, after he managed to get Cleo to step off onto the sofa, did the same.

"It has been… interesting," Martinez said. He offered Donovan his hand.

As they shook, Donovan nodded.

"I will check in on Anya Cabrera's people," he said. "When I know what the situation is, we'll talk again."

"I look forward to it," Martinez said.

Salvatore was saying goodbye to Cleo, scratching gently behind her ears. The two men watched him for a moment, then Donovan lowered his voice.

"Take good care of him, Martinez. That one…he may be the most powerful of us all one day."

Martinez nodded. "I think you are right. One thing Snake said was true. That one has the heart of a dragon — and he has walked in their world. There is no telling what he might do."

Salvatore glanced up, as if he knew they were talking about him, and smiled. Donovan shook his hand as well, and then he showed the two of them out. When the door had closed behind them, he went to his desk and pulled out a metal tube. He tucked the painting into it carefully, then sealed the end with a black cap. Once it was secure, he breathed on the cap and repeated the incantation he'd used on the ribbon.

He walked to the left hand shelf of the center cabinet of his library and gripped the fourth book from the right on the bottom shelf. The entire unit slid out. Behind it was a safe door. He carefully worked the combinations on the three locks securing it, and the door swung open. Inside was a solid block of black stone — obsidian — with round holes drilled into it. He tucked the tube into one of the slots. About half of them were already filled with similar tubes. The painting slid in easily. Donovan closed and sealed the door and swung the shelf back into place.

With a sigh, he turned away. The image of the city and it's colored spheres pulsed in the back of his mind. He shook his head to clear it, walked to his bar, and poured two fingers of strong brandy, which he carried back to his desk. Cleo jumped up beside the pile of documents he'd been cataloguing.

Donovan ruffled the cats fur and gazed into her eyes.

"You know, don't you?" he asked. "You know what he would paint, and what he would see."

Cleo didn't answer. She sat back on her haunches and began washing her forepaw as if bored.

Donovan chuckled and went back to work. He knew he'd have to start researching soon. He had to gather all the references on Worldwalkers he could find and get them to Martinez. Something told him he had not heard the last of Salvatore Domingo Sanchez.

He wondered what it would be like to talk to a dragon.